


A.T. Field

by Fuckboy Phoebus (The_Resurrection_3D)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Implied Traitor AU, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Paul/Patryck (implied), Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 03:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17337758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/Fuckboy%20Phoebus
Summary: "Show me where you wanna be touched."It's disgusting.





	A.T. Field

**Author's Note:**

> Still cleaning out my hard-drive folks! This is taken from that 8k+ TordPauPat project I've mentioned a few times, lightly edited to stand on its own (because I just really love the last line if we're being honest). Didn't post this with 'gott ist tot' because a) 25 works overall is a nice number and b) let's not even pretend this is arousing for anyone, lol.
> 
> If you want a version of this dynamic that is a lot more explicit (but is also far more graphic with its consent issues), SinsAndTriggers wrote their own version of post-Traitor AU TordPat awhile ago, which you can read [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641384)
> 
> Enjoy!

  _Myself, arch-traitor to myself;_  
_My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe,_  
_My clog whatever road I go._

- Christina Rossetti,  "Who Shall Deliver Me?"

 

The other boys whistle and howl when Patryck is caught creeping out of Red Leader's room, ask why he's walking funny, if he really thinks he's gonna get that promotion. Anyone can buy knee-pads, after all. 

Whenever it happens, Patryck simply rolls his eyes, sometimes quipping back _Then why didn't you?_  before allowing them the floor to escalate it, though part of him knows Red will take his side anyway. It had been Red Leader himself, after all, who had spotted Patryck in the line of fresh meat and barked at him to make himself useful - before grabbing his arm in a vice as Patryck made to find a mop, and letting him off with a wink. 

Patryck had rolled his eyes then, too, once he was safely out of his leader's purview. Had taken so long scrubbing that grey eye off him they'd shut the water off before he could even get started on his hair.

The next time he and Red Leader were alone, Patryck sat down in his lap and kissed him as though they'd been together for years.

Now at night Patryck inspects the bruising on his wrists and in between his legs, pressing his fingers into them, the pain a fact and not a reality of feeling. Red had poured him more wine than usual today, nearly ordered him to stay the whole night, but relented when he saw his words weren't slowing down the tying of Pat's shoes. Not a word, not a _goodnight_ , not a _see you tomorrow._

 _(Sorry_ , Pat will say with a shit-eating smile the next day, feeling a warm surge of pride at the sight of Yanov's cheek purple and swollen beneath a cloth full of ice cubes. _My bad.)_

So Patryck waits. Wakes up, works, gets harassed, gets into fights, and waits for the summons - the loud stomp of his warrant officer into the barracks or the silent slipping of notes in hallways or during meetings.

But Red avoids him. On the eighth day - the day, he'll realize later, before the bunk underneath him is to finally be filled - Red calls Patryck back in with a harsh kiss and a bruising grip on his wrists, just when Patryck was starting to think there was truth to the taunts after all. 

* * *

 The first time Patryck pushes Red Leader off - gently as he can,  moving to seem like he's merely leaning up to kiss him, to regain his breath - the pounding between his legs is no longer anything close to pleasurable.

 It feels like the misplaced hammering of a migraine - the kind that turns even the softest footstep across the room into an ice pick deep in the brain.

Some of that discomfort must register on his face, because Red places his organic hand - gloved, always gloved- flat along Patryck's stomach, asking in a soft, husky voice, "Show me where you wanna be touched."

 It's too much. It's disgusting.

Patryck entwines his fingers with Red's and raises the hand to his lips, a ghost of kiss before he shoves Red down onto the bed, pinning him by the shoulders.

Red raises what's left of his eyebrows.

Patryck slips his fingertips into the waistband of Red Leader's boxers, already feeling dizzy and sick from the feeling of heated, scarred flesh beneath his own. "What if I want to touch _you_ instead?"

Red Leader makes his hands a pillow beneath his head -- though how comfortable that metal hand can be, Patryck has to wonder. "Go ahead," he says with that cocksure grin.

He won't be broken today, but that doesn't mean Patryck isn't going to try.

* * *

Looking back, he really should have played harder to get. Should have dragged this out, made Red tremble for him, made him feel even half as much as Pat feels when Red touches him, as though a needle full of acid and lightning has been injected right into his bloodstream.

Should have this, should have that.

As though blame can really be assigned unevenly here. As though the word "patient" could ever be ascribed to a bitter old cunt like - well, like either of them. 

 _(all_ three _of them, you mean)_

* * *

"I wish you'd tell him to -"

"To what, fuck off?"

"Yeah, preferably. I don't know what you could possibly be getting out of this whole—" Paul seesaws his hand, face contorting as he tries not to scrunch his newly-broken nose "—arrangement."

_(not my fault he told me it was an accident)_

Patryck stomps the rest of the way into his boot with an angry 'thud' as he stands, ignoring as he shrugs on his jacket the way his skin is already crawling again with bugs no one else can see. "Good, because it's none of your business to know." 

* * *

  _"Just stay here with me,"_ Red says, crushing Patryck in his arms, voice dark and low and almost (if Patryck didn't know any better he'd say) shaken. "Don't say a word." 

Patryck doesn't sleep, but he's fairly certain Red doesn't expect him to. The contact is hot and nerve-wracking but Patryck can finally float in the quiet of his own head for a bit, watching that crimson limb charge against the wall with a tiny blue pulse of light. Red breathes slowly, deeply, artificially. Patryck counts them. 

 In the morning their eyes are both swollen and shot and Red makes them coffee, still silent save for running a gloved hand over his unmarred cheek and murmuring that he drinks too much caffeine. Patryck nods and throws up his cup within ten minutes of drinking it.

He makes Patryck go to work anyway. 

* * *

  _"Come for me,"_ Tord - when did he become Tord? - commands, leather fingers curled deep inside Patryck's aching body.

 Patryck is trembling against him, head on Tord's shoulder, chewing his lip until he feels a thin film of skin peel off onto his tongue. "I - I can't."

Tord kisses his temple, fingers retracting ever so slightly. Pressed against Patryck instead of inside him, just beneath the spots that would have normally made him see stars.

But the thoughts are too loud tonight, even with Tord here, covering him, inside him - it's too much and not nearly enough. 

Besides, Patryck is not going to grind himself on Tord's glove and whimper and plead for him, tell him how fucking _grateful_ he should be for the opportunity. Fuck that.  

Tord sighs and pulls his hand back, removing his glove with his teeth finger by finger, less seductive and more annoyed with the whole ordeal. 

"Doesn't your othe-"

 "Tell me you're not stupid enough to believe that shit," Red Leader (how silly he could ever be anything else) cuts in with the exact same tone he uses to address exhausted corporals. ( _"I told you all to sort it out yesterday - well, whose fault is that?")_  

Patryck knits his brow. "Pardon me for suggesting you might be good for something other than amassing cannon fodder."

Red smiles and pulls Patryck into a crushing kiss, pushing them both to the bed before moving down, down, down, hot breath ghosting over Pat's skin and _god please make it stop_. Red finally looks up from between his legs, says,"Now that's what I like to hear."

And plunges his bare fingers straight into Patryck's cunt.

* * *

Red Leader kisses him, murmuring into his flesh how much stronger he’ll be once he gets that two-faced cunt, that worthless traitor out of his memory.

_Such a wonderfully ruthless soldier, a stronger p-_

Patryck shuts his mind off, not even wondering why it wasn't always this easy. He wakes up in the morning, works, goes to Red Leader's room and swallows the urge to shove him off, goes to bed. Tries to sleep, often doesn't. But what else is new? 

Red, meanwhile, has a mind that runs the way a shark swims -- pacing, fucking, working, whispering fucking  _constantly,_ trying to fill Patryck's ears with empty noise. _You only need me, Patty, forget him, it's all his own / told me it wasn't your / not my fault fault fault._

Patryck takes the word fault out of his mouth and all that's left is silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly not the biggest fan of this, but if I fleshed it out the way it probably should be it would never get done, so :-P. You can come bother me at my [ tumblr! ](https://the-resurrection-3d.tumblr.com/) All feedback is appreciated <3 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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